


You Don't Know How This Feels

by Winchester666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Feels, Eventual Wincest, Hurt/Comfort, Johncest, M/M, Not Gonna Lie-This Will Hurt, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Semi-Graphic Descriptions of Sexual Violence, Unbeta'd, self-hate, sex as a coping mechanism, sorta canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester666/pseuds/Winchester666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes bad things happen, and there's nothing you can do about it, except move on and keep your head up. Or at least that's what Dean keeps telling himself. It's a lot easier said than done, especially when the person responsible for those bad things is family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know How This Feels

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic itself is mostly based off of my own headcanons as well as [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtddeCGKl90) video, and also off Lady Gaga's single "Til It Happens To You"

Dean had been twenty-four, that first time, and he could still remember the raw ache in his throat from the shouting match he and Dad had, lasting well over two hours, accompanied by the tossing and shattering of personal possessions and motel property alike. When it finally ended, Dean's head hung low in shame as blood dripped from his lip and a gash in his forehead, arm wrapped around bruised ribs, John apologized. 

It surprised Dean, but he should have known the pretty words were nothing more than just that, pretty things to placate him, soothe him into a false sense of comfort and security. It was what Dad always did when they fought. 

John scooped Dean off the floor and helped him to the bed, still murmuring gentle things to him as he stripped him down to his boxers. Dean just sat there, face blank, eyes unseeing as John tended the wounds on his face and examined his ribs. Dean didn't even flinch when he prodded a sore spot.

Dean couldn't even remember how he got onto his belly, how he came to be bare naked, or how the pillow came to be tucked beneath his chest. He just clung to it, wrapping his long, strong arms around it. Arms toned by the training he'd endured since he was a small boy, training that had carved him into a warrior. Because that's what he was: Daddy's good little soldier.

That was why he didn't move from his position, not even when he felt the cold, wet press of lubed fingers against his hole, pushing into his body. This was what John wanted, what his superior wanted, and a good soldier followed orders, no matter what his heart or brain or anything else told him. Dean was to do what his father needed him to do, and if that meant he needed him to lie here and let himself be violated, then so be it.

Dean hardly reacted at all, until the cold smear of lube was replaced by the hot brand of flesh against his back and between his buttocks. It was then he knew what it truly felt like to be beaten. He thought he'd know it when their fists had started flying, when John's hand had been crushing his trachea and his head rang from a collision with the motel's shitty plaster walls. But that was nothing compared to this.

Dean clung to the pillow, teeth sunken deep into his already torn lip, reopening the tear and causing blood to speckle the pillowcase. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the prick of tears threatening to fall, and he could hear his pulse thundering inside his skull in his effort not to scream out in pain, sadness. He didn't really know why he wanted to scream, all he knew was the trapped sound made his chest ache.

After several rough, short thrusts that made the headboard slam against the wall and made Dean feel as if he were being gutted, it was over. He felt the weight and heat of John's body lift from his back, leaving the sweat that had beaded between their bodies to cool on his back. John didn't say a word as Dean listened to him get dressed, and Dean didn't speak either. He heard the door close, and winced as it slammed shut, squeezing the pillow tighter in his arms.

A tear slipped from each of Dean's eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he lay there, cold and naked and sore, trying to process everything that had just happened to him. After some time, Dean finally rose from the bed, body pleading with him to just lay back down. He ignored the piss-warm trickle running down his thighs as he made his way to the bathroom to wash away the blood and stains from his body, one thing going through his mind:

_This is just another part of your life, boy. This is what it means to be here for your dad. You failed with Sammy, the least you can do is keep being strong for him._


End file.
